


Maybe You Can Help Me Get What I Want

by WolffyLuna



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Banter, Desperation, Do Not Archive, F/M, Gertrude and Gerry's Apocalypse-Preventing American Road Trip, Hand Jobs, In Medias Res, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Naked Male Clothed Female, Sexy Leitners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/pseuds/WolffyLuna
Summary: There are basically no upsides to having heats, as far as Gerry's concerned... but he's certainly not going to complain if Gertrude decided to help him out with one so he was fighting fit and not completely distracted sooner.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Gertrude Robinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36
Collections: Heat Fic Summer 2020





	Maybe You Can Help Me Get What I Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plutonianshores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this fic. 
> 
> The title is from Ken Ashcorp's [_Absolute Territory_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFZKgf5WG0g), because while the song might not have much to do with this fic on a surface level, the fact it was stuck in my head while I was writing it probably had a fair amount of influence on the tone.

“Sorry about this,” Gerry panted. He lay on the motel bed, sweaty and starfished. The cheap blankets scratched his back, and the mattress springs creaked with every slight movement.

Gertrude pumped his cock with mechanical precision, two fingers of her other hand stroking inside his arse, occasionally grazing against his prostate as the mood took her. “You’re not sorry at all.” 

They didn’t quite both fit on the bed. (It was supposedly a twin, but Gerry doubted that.)

Gertrude had tried to just sit on the edge of the bed earlier, but she kept nearly falling off. She nearly fell off beds with great dignity and decorum, even while giving her erstwhile colleague a hand job, he had to give her that. Eventually, she’d given up and straddled one of his legs, while still clothed, with some reluctance.

“It is a bit hard to be properly sorry about something that’s not your fault,” he admitted. It was also hard to be sorry about anything when your body was doing it’s best to become made of need, every nerve singing with either arousal or its fulfilment, the animal drive turning him into something akin to an animal that could talk, a pig who only cared about whether there was any slop, or if there wasn’t any, when he’d get more.

“Not your fault?” She arched an eyebrow, all prim and proper like she wasn’t knuckle- deep in him. “I don’t recall you explaining it like that.”

“I was young! Reckless! And I learned my lesson,” he said, mostly joking. And he had learned that lesson, as a sixteen-year-old idiot: treat all Leitners with at least a modicum of respect, and don’t go thinking ‘it’s just about increasing the reproductive yield of livestock, what’s the harm in it.’ At least he hadn’t read any of the really dangerous bits. This problem was embarrassing, but at least it wasn’t deadly, unlike the poor sods who made the mistake of looking at the section on culling low- producing stock.

“Did you?”

He smiled, licked his teeth. “Scout’s honour, ma’am.”

Gertrude dug her fingers into his prostate, likely to get him to shut up. It should have been painful, too rough and intense, but his body was very much having a moment with itself, and interpreted it as pleasure. Red- hot and intense, so much that he could barely sense anything else. His eyes were open but they did not register anything.

His hips arched off the mattress, and fell down with a heavy thunk that probably didn’t do anything good to the springs.

He got his breath back, and tried to speak again. “Okay, okay, no ‘ma’am’ing.”

“No  _ sarcastic  _ ‘ma’am’ing.”

He changed conversational tacks, just so he could keep talking. He didn’t necessarily need to talk, but it made it feel less—weird, if he did. Made it less clinical, more two colleagues on break. And if he kept talking, kept himself distracted, the sensations couldn’t make him go under, turn him into a pit of need making some very alarming high-pitched noises.

If she wouldn’t take an apology, the least she could do was take a thanks. “Okay: thank you for the help.” Because he was. As much as this was maybe not ideal—it would be quicker than trying to ride it out himself. And less of a terrible idea than trying to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t happening, while his body was constantly looking to fuck something or get fucked. (He’d tried ignoring it once. Only once. And it was a stroke of incredible luck that he hadn’t got a public indecency charge out of the attempt.) Plus, Gertrude offering was probably better than his plan A, which had involved finding a  _ very _ open-minded hook up in Nowheresville, Missouri. (Which he had not mentioned to Gertrude, because it was a bad plan that she would have immediately kyboshed if she heard it.) “I’m aware this is probably not how you wanted to spend your day.”

“I’d rather get this dealt with sooner rather than later.” But she didn’t deny it.

And while—okay, it was not just this rutting Flesh weirdness that meant he wanted to fuck her, even if she was nearly old enough to be his grandma, but he wouldn’t have  _ asked _ . So he appreciated her offering on that level too, even if he wouldn’t say that. This was two colleagues dealing with an unfortunate situation, and he wasn’t going to make it stop being that. Not least because Gertrude wouldn’t have a bar of it. And it would be unbearably awkward.

Her hand on his cock was slow and precise and delicious. Just the right speed and just the right pressure—and okay, his body wasn’t exactly picky right now, she could’ve been doing just about anything and it’d have him panting for her.

She thumbed across the slit of his cock, and his lungs pushed out a gasp, just to make his point.

He did his best to keep still, stop himself from squirming, but it didn’t work. The hair on the nape of his neck matted from the sweat and friction, the rest of it making a halo of damp hair around his head.

Gertrude stayed rock-steady despite his movements, somewhere between intensely focused on her task, and obviously thinking about something else because it was so brainless and menial.

His thigh shifted underneath her, against his will. It bumped up against her crotch, and he couldn’t tell if he just imagined that she shifted to meet him, that she just tried to  _ grind _ against him—but he knew he felt the dampness there.

He swallowed thickly. Made the offer again, even if she demurred last time. “I could help you, if you want.” He paused to catch his rapidly running away breath. “I am totally up for fu—”

She cut him off, pressing down hard on his prostate, harder than before.

It was even more intense and overwhelming and  _ so good _ . He couldn’t feel anything than the electric current of pleasure coursing through him. “Okay, I’ll stop suggesting it!” But he couldn’t feel his tongue, or his throat, he couldn’t hear himself, and for all he knew he just babbled nonsense. He came to just as he started coming, semen spurting over his stomach, the muscular contractions passing through him.

His stomach and chest were pretty well covered in come now, in various stages of drying and cooling. He’d have guessed that Gertrude would have been... neater, the sort of person who’d insist on keeping a wash cloth handy, or throwing tissues at him from the decorative fabric box. But she’d always been full of surprises.

“Sorry, sorry—I won’t.”

“Thank you, Gerard,” she said, very primly, as she kept stroking his cock and fingering his arse.

He was more sensitive after coming, he’s been more sensitive after each time, but it still hadn’t tipped over into painful. Wouldn’t, until the heat passed through him, when things would very quickly flip to ‘ow.’

She changed the topic, as much as ‘changing the topic’ was even possible in this circumstance. “How long?”

“How long is a piece of string? An hour, an hour and a half, maybe more? I never got this down to a science.”

She made a face like she expected him to have done so, and she was very lucky that he was both blissed out and distracted, or he  _ would _ ask her how she expected him to work it out. With details. And diagrams. (And if she had to draw with her pen in her mouth, so be it.)

She pulled her fingers out of his arse, and he bit back an embarrassing whimper. She shook a cramp out of her hand, lube flicking off them and landing on the blankets.

(He didn’t really understand tipping, but he was definitely going to have to tip whoever has to clean this disaster area  _ well _ .)

“I could—”

“If you say ‘help,’ Gerard—”

“I was going to say ‘sort myself out.’” He shrugged as best as he could while starfished out on the bed. “It’ll take longer, but I can work with that.”

She put her fingers back in, roughly, but he was so relaxed and open and his brain wass so fried that he let out a not bitten back gasp at the pleasure of it.

“I am not an invalid.”

“If you say,” he said, with a lopsided smile.

Gertrude had nothing to prove. But even so, she set about proving that she could very much go all day if she needed to.

* * *

His estimate of an hour and half for his heat to clear was accurate.

He half jumped, half slid off the bed, because things that were not meant to be raw were and  _ ow _ , and he was covered in sweat and come and he needed a shower  _ immediately _ .

Gertrude met his sudden exit with a raised eyebrow and a clipped “Finished?”

Gerard let his rapid escape and the sound of running water answer that.

Once he got out of the shower, he met her at their car. She’d already packed their luggage and stacked it in the back seats.

He sat down in the passenger seat and tried not to wince as fabric rubbed up against skin that was not okay with the concept of anything being in contact with it right now.

Gertrude looked at him sidelong, not quite  _ concerned _ , but something close enough to that.

He smiled awkwardly, tried to defuse the situation with a joke. “I won’t kiss and tell if you want.”

She started the car. “If you did, no one would believe you.”

“Fair.”


End file.
